Chain Of Pleasure

Chapter 11

It was her idea, so why did she feel so utterly and completely sick to her stomach?

There weren't a lot of thing Marceline wouldn't do to survive, but she had never thrown this option out there. Not until her latest encounter with those things called Croats; there was a longer version of the name but she honestly did not care. All she cared about was getting the f**k away from them and that's where this completely insane/stupid idea had come from.

She doesn't know what to expect when the heavy set fellow drags her into the rough cabin, maybe some pillows and beads, a guy lounging on a throne made of burgundy pillows while two half naked women fan him and feed him grapes or what have you. Instead of all that, she gets the distinct slap of musk, alcohol and the brightest pair of green eyes she's ever seen - and they were glaring at her. Not any simple glare either, this one was piercing and almost riveted her to the floorboards beneath her feet.

"Bad idea," Marceline repeated lowly to herself, stiff when the man pushed her forward, still gripping her arm tight; the laceration on her upper right thigh throbbed out a small trickle of blood and she winced. "Bad f*****g idea..." She bowed her head a little.

"And just what the f**k is this," the green eyed man growled in a deep voice, making dread further coil in her belly.

"She asked to be brought to you," the man holding her said in a bored tone and dumped her unceremoniously at the man's feet.

"Did she now," the green eyed man purred (sweet Jesus) as he stepped around the table he had been hovering over.

"Please. . ." Marceline whimpered.

The man smirked. "Please what, poppet," he asked.

Marceline trembled as she looked up at him. "Please keep me safe. . .sir."

He arched an eyebrow at her, eyes flickering above her head, jerking his chin at the big man behind her. Marceline trembled as she looked back, watching the door thump shut before she shrieked at being hoisted up by the back of her shorts like a child. She flailed for a moment but was once more dropped - this time, onto a musty old couch in the corner of what was supposed to be the living room. She scrambled into a seated position, eyes focused on the brute that stalked off into the kitchen, coming back with a tall bottle of clear liquid; when the top was screwed off, she was hit with the burning scent of drinking alcohol, undefined.

He grabbed her ankle and jerked it out, stretching her leg over his lap. "Sit still," he snapped when she tried to pull her leg back.

She bit her tongue when he poured the alcohol over her cut, every instinct in her saying 'scream!', where she just sat there and allowed him to man-handle her in obedient silence. He took a swig of the drink and set it down on the floor, keeping her leg on his lap as it burned.

"You're real stupid, kid," he chuckled around his words, and her eyes widened, but she was still staring at her scuffed ankle. "Got a name?"

She didn't make eye contact, felt she couldn't. "Marceline," damn the hitch in her voice.

"Edward," she did look at his face then. "So, pray tell why you asked to be brought to me? Never had that happen before, so color me curious." He was smirking at her, confident and...playful, but only as playful as he wanted to be.

Marceline swallowed and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "I'm here to offer myself to you."

Edward chuckled and stroked his hand up her undamaged shin. "You're gonna have to be a little bit more specific poppet," he muttered.

"I-I need to be safe," Marceline started. "And, I'm sure you have needs that...need attending to."

He arched an eyebrow at her and Marceline squeaked when he was suddenly so close. "Today is just a day for firsts I suppose," he grumbles and pulled away from her, grabbing the clear bottle and taking another mouthful before he capped it. "So, what? I f**k you whenever and however I want and so long as you stay alive, its cool?"

Marceline swallowed as he slammed the fridge closed, watching him approach slowly. "That's the gyst," she mumbled. "I can't make it out there on my own anymore and I . . . ."

Edward gave her a look and she stopped talking. "I don't really care why you're here," he drawled. "But, you've given me quite the proposal."

Marceline swallowed nervously, brushing some hair out of her eyes. "I'm good. I promise."

He looked like he wanted to laugh as he perched on the edge of the table in front of the couch, hovering over her. "Oh really now?" She nodded, not at all full of herself, but she had to try. "And how can I be so sure? What if you're a lousy f**k, hmm," was that amusement in his eyes?

"Y-You, I mean I -" Marceline swallowed nervously. "If I. . .I guess you can do what you want with me," her stomach was tightening in dread; again, bad idea. "And you can find out for yourself..."

"Anything," Edward questioned, raising an eyebrow at her.

Marceline closed her eyes and sighed. "Yes, anything," she murmured demurely.

Edward chuckled darkly. "Oh, honey, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Marceline shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Better than being dead," she said.

Edward crossed his arms over his chest. "You might think different in a few days," he said gruffly and grabbed her chin, jerking her head up. "I can be a very dangerous man."

Marceline swallowed and felt fear snake down her spine. "I'm giving myself to you," she said. "What I want and feel no longer matter," just like she practiced with Agatha, back in the inner city where this was just a way of life, a way to get by.

On the outside, you could try to make your own mark among the militia outposts, s*x was not expected as p*****t for life unless you were desperate (as she was) or if there was limited room in the camp. Marceline was desperate, and this was one of the smallest militia outfits in the wild. They were known, sort of, and she knew they were down on supplies, but they weren't marauders and bandits. She wouldn't be gang-r***d and left for dead, starved, thrown to the Croats for fun...

There goes that eyebrow as he examines her, tilting her head side-to-side, examining her like her doctor used to before the Apocalypse. His eyes were narrowed and calculating, soaking in every detail, deciding whether he wanted to take her up on her offer in the first place. She wasn't the best looking girl out there, she wasn't shaped and toned like the women that fought or went out for supply runs. She was weak and almost inexperienced when it came to combat, brutal surviving was not her strong suit. But she had s*x, she could sell her body, but she would choose...and she chose this man.

She involuntarily jerked back as he snatched his hand away, his nails clipping her chin. Marceline ducked her head as he grunted, shaking her head softly at herself for being so jumpy. He was trying to scare her and he was succeeding but she couldn't go out there anymore, she just couldn't. And sure, she could have just asked to join this group but the past couple of time she had tried with other groups, they either there weren't buying what she was selling or they tried to kill her. s*x rules, even in the apocalypse and it was her last resort. . .

"Fine," Edward stated and Marceline actually felt a flicker of hope ignite in her chest. "I'll keep you in my room. Can't have anyone else taking what's mine, now can I," he asked, patting her head in a patronizing manner.

Marceline shook her head. "No, sir," she replied softly.

He chuckled and, despite his crass attitude, helped her up gently from the couch. "You don't leave," he paused as she limped up the stairs. "Ever, unless I say something, got it?" She nodded meekly, letting out a soft and relieved sigh. "Now, I'm going on a run and you're gonna sit your pretty little ass right here."

Marceline gave a slight 'oomph' as he let her go at the edge of a large bed with a scratchy green blanket crumpled on it. She stretched a hand out, trying to remember the last time she had seen a bed that wasn't destroyed in some manner. Most people had retreated into hospitals or bigger buildings, turned massive rooms into huge bunks, the blankets scratchy and torn, littered with holes and dirt; most things smelt like mold. This throw was not particularly clean, nor did it smell extremely pleasant, but she had smelt far, far worse.

She looked up when he kicked open a door, revealing a bathroom.

"You can shower if you want," he muttered and then looked at her again. "Actually on second thought, shower." Marceline nodded meekly, wrinkling her nose at her own disheveled appearance. Edward nodded before picking up his running clothes. "Shower. Stay put," he ordered.

"Yes sir," she murmured, quirking her lips in the corner when he gave her a faded black shirt.

At his grunt, she shuffled out of the room, breathing a small sigh of relief on the other side of the door. She locked it and examined the tiny room, almost whimpering when the shower worked properly; no hot water, but that was to be expected. She stretched and twisted in the small, room, looking at the scratches and abrasions that littered her back and legs, the slightly purple marks beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. 

"He won't keep me long," she murmured, stepping under the shower head.

She closed her eyes into the water, chills coming up across her skin as she scrubbed the wilderness from her body. Blood and dirt had been caked onto her for weeks, she had tried to bathe in the nearest stream of water, but she hadn't been able to clean her clothes or properly wash her hair; most soap these days was strictly for cleanliness, with no special smells at all, unlike this soap that smelt so strongly of mint it kind of made her dizzy.

Its dark when she's woken up, and Marceline's first reaction is to tense up, to dig her fingers into the sheets to ground herself before she started whimpering.

She'd spent enough time on the outside that being a light sleeper was just who she was, never fully sleeping because of the thought that a Croat (or a man) could sneak up on her, or a hoard of them could find her, kill her. She had woken like this plenty of times before out there, having to freeze as she sits up so she could hear properly. She was searching for the snarls of the turned, or the drunken, malicious taunting of bandits, but all she heard was Edward, and she remembered where she was.

"Look, if she has something that will kill me, I will make sure I kill you before I go."

There was a sigh from another male voice, downstairs. "Edward, I am not a doctor."

"Just use your damn angel-sniffing thing on her, okay," Edward groaned. "I don't even want her but lets be careful okay," there was a pause. "Plus, she looks a little sickly to me. Skin and bones."

"It could be as simple as her lacking nourishment, I do not sense much and I do believe I would be able to sense something being so close," the second voice sighed. "But I will do this for you. She is up in your bed, hmm?"

Whoops.

Marceline cringed and tip toed while Edward barked at the other man. She slid back into the bed, not entirely bothered with pretending she was asleep; they'd surely know she was awake, if they didn't already. There was light coming up from the stairs, but the figure that entered was still nothing but a silhouette until they lit the oil lamp on the bedside. She must have looked pretty pathetic, curled up and clenching the covers like a child as she stared up at this mystery man, minus Edward, which slightly alarmed her.

He didn't cut such a figure as Edward, but he still looked like someone she would not mess with. His eyes were hollow and he had stubble on his jaw, hunched in on himself in dirty rags; he smelt like m*******a and had the bloodshot eyes to prove her suspicions, but then again, most people looked the same way these days.

"Marceline," she prayed Edward had told him her name, she had a sick feeling that he just already knew it. "I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord."

Her lips snapped to pursed. "An angel," she whispered in a questioning tone and he nodded. "I thought they. . .I thought they left us."

He gestured to himself, dirty rags and no halo in sight. "Obviously not all of them." He gave her a weak smile and then waved a hand over her. "I need you to uncover yourself, please."

"Why?"

"Edward wants me to assure that you are disease free for. . .your offer." The way his face scrunched up reminded her of Agatha's when she had told her, her idea,the one that brought her to this camp.

"Oh," she murmured and then took a steadying breath, kicking the blanket down a little. "How. . .?"

He cleared his throat and shuffled awkwardly in place. "If you would please sit up and face me. . ."

He wasn't getting specific, so this was going to be pretty uncomfortable.

Marceline sighed lowly and did as he instructed, her toes dangling several inches off of the floor when she adjusted herse;f. Castiel visibly ground the teeth on the left side of his jaw and reached a steady hand out, grasping the right side of her throat and bringing his other hand up to gently graze over her skin. He hummed to himself while Marceline sat stock-still, her breath hitching when he leaned in and inhaled against her. Her eyes flickered to Edward, who entered the room with critical eyes, leaning into the door frame by his shoulders. He watched Castiel work over her without a word, without moving; he didn't even blink the entire time.

The angel hummed as he straightened himself, Marceline releasing a sigh of immense relief as she loosened her stature; the coil remained tight in her belly. She looked up as Edward and Castiel whispered to each other and then Edward waved an arm at the man, who gave Marceline a fleeting look before he disappeared down the stairs. Her eyes remained fixated on the imposing figure examining her more thoroughly than whatever Castiel had done to her; what the Hell was that, anyway?

"Take your clothes off."